Ten Years Later

by Alexandre Dumas

  It has been seen, by the account we have endeavored to give of it, thatthe entree of King Louis XIV. into the city of Blois had been noisy andbrilliant his young majesty had therefore appeared perfectly satisfiedwith it.

  On arriving beneath the porch of the Castle of the States, the king met,surrounded by his guards and gentlemen, with S. A. R. the duke, Gastonof Orleans, whose physiognomy, naturally rather majestic, had borrowedon this solemn occasion a fresh luster and a fresh dignity. On herpart, Madame, dressed in her robes of ceremony, awaited, in the interiorbalcony, the entrance of her nephew. All the windows of the old castle,so deserted and dismal on ordinary days, were resplendent with ladiesand lights.

  It was then to the sound of drums, trumpets, and vivats, that the youngking crossed the threshold of that castle in which, seventy-two yearsbefore, Henry III. had called in the aid of assassination and treacheryto keep upon his head and in his house a crown which was alreadyslipping from his brow, to fall into another family.

  All eyes, after having admired the young king, so handsome and soagreeable, sought for that other king of France, much otherwise kingthan the former, and so old, so pale, so bent, that people called himthe Cardinal Mazarin.

  Louis was at this time endowed with all the natural gifts which makethe perfect gentleman; his eye was brilliant, mild, and of a clear azureblue. But the most skillful physiognomists, those divers into the soul,on fixing their looks upon it, if it had been possible for a subject tosustain the glance of the king,--the most skillful physiognomists, wesay, would never have been able to fathom the depths of that abyss ofmildness. It was with the eyes of the king as with the immense depths ofthe azure heavens, or with those more terrific, and almost as sublime,which the Mediterranean reveals under the keels of its ships in aclear summer day, a gigantic mirror in which heaven delights to reflectsometimes its stars, sometimes its storms.

  The king was short of stature--he was scarcely five feet two inches: buthis youth made up for this defect, set off likewise by great noblenessin all his movements, and by considerable address in all bodilyexercises.

  Certes, he was already quite a king, and it was a great thing to be aking in that period of traditional devotedness and respect; but as,up to that time, he had been but seldom and always poorly shown to thepeople, as they to whom he was shown saw him by the side of his mother,a tall woman, and monsieur le cardinal, a man of commanding presence,many found him so little of a king as to say,--

  "Why, the king is not so tall as monsieur le cardinal!"

  Whatever may be thought of these physical observations, which wereprincipally made in the capital, the young king was welcomed as a god bythe inhabitants of Blois, and almost like a king by his uncle and aunt,Monsieur and Madame, the inhabitants of the castle.

  It must, however, be allowed, that when he saw, in the hall ofreception, chairs of equal height placed for himself, his mother, thecardinal, and his uncle and aunt, a disposition artfully concealed bythe semicircular form of the assembly, Louis XIV. became red with anger,and looked around him to ascertain by the countenances of those thatwere present, if this humiliation had been prepared for him. But as hesaw nothing upon the impassible visage of the cardinal, nothing on thatof his mother, nothing on those of the assembly, he resigned himself,and sat down, taking care to be seated before anybody else.

  The gentlemen and ladies were presented to their majesties and monsieurle cardinal.

  The king remarked that his mother and he scarcely knew the names of anyof the persons who were presented to them; whilst the cardinal, on thecontrary never failed, with an admirable memory and presence of mind,to talk to every one about his estates, his ancestors, or his children,some of whom he named, which enchanted those worthy country gentlemen,and confirmed them in the idea that he alone is truly king who knows hissubjects, from the same reason that the sun has no rival, because thesun alone warms and lightens.

  The study of the young king, which had begun a long time before, withoutanybody suspecting it, was continued then, and he looked around himattentively to endeavor to make out something in the physiognomies whichhad at first appeared the most insignificant and trivial.

  A collation was served. The king, without daring to call upon thehospitality of his uncle, had waited for it impatiently. This time,therefore, he had all the honors due, if not to his rank, at least tohis appetite.

  As to the cardinal, he contented himself with touching with his witheredlips a bouillon, served in a gold cup. The all-powerful minister, whohad taken her regency from the queen, and his royalty from the king, hadnot been able to take a good stomach from nature.

  Anne of Austria, already suffering from the cancer which six or eightyears after caused her death, ate very little more than the cardinal.

  For Monsieur, already puffed up with the great event which had takenplace in his provincial life, he ate nothing whatever.

  Madame alone, like a true Lorrainer, kept pace with his majesty; so thatLouis XIV., who, without this partner, might have eaten nearly alone,was at first much pleased with his aunt, and afterwards with M. deSaint-Remy, her maitre d'hotel, who had really distinguished himself.

  The collation over, at a sign of approbation from M. de Mazarin, theking arose, and, at the invitation of his aunt, walked about among theranks of the assembly.

  The ladies then observed--there are certain things for which women areas good observers at Blois as at Paris--the ladies then observed thatLouis XIV. had a prompt and bold look, which premised a distinguishedappreciator of beauty. The men, on their part, observed that the princewas proud and haughty, that he loved to look down those who fixed theireyes upon him too long or too earnestly, which gave presage of a master.

  Louis XIV. had accomplished about a third of his review when his earswere struck with a word which his eminence pronounced whilst conversingwith Monsieur.

  This word was the name of a woman.

  Scarcely had Louis XIV. heard this word than he heard, or ratherlistened to nothing else; and neglecting the arc of the circle whichawaited his visit, his object seemed to be to come as quickly aspossible to the extremity of the curve.

  Monsieur, like a good courtier, was inquiring of monsieur le cardinalafter the health of his nieces; he regretted, he said, not having thepleasure of receiving them at the same time with their uncle; they mustcertainly have grown in stature, beauty and grace, as they had promisedto do the last time Monsieur had seen them.

  What had first struck the king was a certain contrast in the voices ofthe two interlocutors. The voice of Monsieur was calm and natural whilehe spoke thus; while that of M. de Mazarin jumped by a note and a halfto reply above the diapason of his usual voice. It might have been saidthat he wished that voice to strike, at the end of the salon, any earthat was too distant.

  "Monseigneur," replied he, "Mesdemoiselles de Mazarin have still tofinish their education: they have duties to fulfill, and a position tomake. An abode in a young and brilliant court would dissipate them alittle."

  Louis, at this last sentence, smiled sadly. The court was young, it wastrue, but the avarice of the cardinal had taken good care that it shouldnot be brilliant.

  "You have nevertheless no intention," replied Monsieur, "to cloisterthem or make them bourgeoises?"

  "Not at all," replied the cardinal, forcing his Italian pronunciation insuch a manner that, from soft and velvety as it was, it became sharp andvibrating, "not at all: I have a full and fixed intention to marry them,and that as well as I shall be able."

  "Parties will not be wanting, monsieur le cardinal," replied Monsieur,with a bonhomie worthy of one tradesman congratulating another.

  "I hope not, monseigneur, and with reason, as God has been pleased togive them grace, intelligence, and beauty."

  During this conversation, Louis XIV., conducted by Madame, accomplished,as we have described, the circle of presentations.

  "Mademoiselle Auricule," said the princess, presenting to his majesty afat, fair girl of two-and-twenty, who at a village
fete might havebeen taken for a peasant in Sunday finery,--"the daughter of mymusic-mistress."

  The king smiled. Madame had never been able to extract four correctnotes from either viol or harpsichord.

  "Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais," continued Madame, "a young lady ofrank, and my good attendant."

  This time it was not the king that smiled; it was the young ladypresented, because, for the first time in her life, she heard, given toher by Madame, who generally showed no tendency to spoil her, such anhonorable qualification.

  Our old acquaintance Montalais, therefore, made his majesty a profoundcourtesy, the more respectful from the necessity she was under ofconcealing certain contractions of her laughing lips, which the kingmight not have attributed to their real cause.

  It was just at this moment that the king caught the word which startledhim.

  "And the name of the third?" asked Monsieur.

  "Mary, monseigneur," replied the cardinal.

  There was doubtless some magical influence in that word, for, as we havesaid, the king started at hearing it, and drew Madame towards the middleof the circle, as if he wished to put some confidential question to her,but, in reality, for the sake of getting nearer to the cardinal.

  "Madame my aunt," said he, laughing, and in a suppressed voice, "mygeography-master did not teach me that Blois was at such an immensedistance from Paris."

  "What do you mean, nephew?" asked Madame.

  "Why, because it would appear that it requires several years, as regardsfashion, to travel the distance!--Look at those young ladies!"

  "Well; I know them all."

  "Some of them are pretty."

  "Don't say that too loud, monsieur my nephew; you will drive them wild."

  "Stop a bit, stop a bit, dear aunt!" said the king, smiling; "for thesecond part of my sentence will serve as a corrective to the first.Well, my dear aunt, some of them appear old and others ugly, thanks totheir ten-year-old fashions."

  "But, sire, Blois is only five days, journey from Paris."

  "Yes, that is it," said the king: "two years behind for each day."

  "Indeed! do you really think so? Well, that is strange! It never struckme."

  "Now, look, aunt," said Louis XIV., drawing still nearer to Mazarin,under the pretext of gaining a better point of view, "look at thatsimple white dress by the side of those antiquated specimens of finery,and those pretentious coiffures. She is probably one of my mother'smaids of honor, though I don't know her."

  "Ah! ah! my dear nephew!" replied Madame, laughing, "permit me to tellyou that your divinatory science is at fault for once. The young ladyyou honor with your praise is not a Parisian, but a Blaisoise."

  "Oh, aunt!" replied the king with a look of doubt.

  "Come here, Louise," said Madame.

  And the fair girl, already known to you under that name, approachedthem, timid, blushing, and almost bent beneath the royal glance.

  "Mademoiselle Louise Francoise de la Baume le Blanc, the daughter of theMarquise de la Valliere," said Madame, ceremoniously.

  The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled with the profoundtimidity inspired by the presence of the king, that the latter lost,while looking at her, a few words of the conversation of Monsieur andthe cardinal.

  "Daughter-in-law," continued Madame, "of M. de Saint-Remy, my maitred'hotel, who presided over the confection of that excellent daubetruffee which your majesty seemed so much to appreciate."

  No grace, no youth, no beauty, could stand out against such apresentation. The king smiled. Whether the words of Madame were apleasantry, or uttered in all innocency, they proved the pitilessimmolation of everything that Louis had found charming or poetic in theyoung girl. Mademoiselle de la Valliere, for Madame and, by rebound,for the king, was, for a moment, no more than the daughter of a man of asuperior talent over dindes truffees.

  But princes are thus constituted. The gods, too, were just like thisin Olympus. Diana and Venus, no doubt, abused the beautiful Alcmenaand poor Io, when they condescended, for distraction's sake, to speak,amidst nectar and ambrosia, of mortal beauties, at the table of Jupiter.

  Fortunately, Louise was so bent in her reverential salute, that she didnot catch either Madame's words or the king's smile. In fact, if thepoor child, who had so much good taste as alone to have chosen to dressherself in white amidst all her companions--if that dove's heart, soeasily accessible to painful emotions, had been touched by the cruelwords of Madame, or the egotistical cold smile of the king, it wouldhave annihilated her.

  And Montalais herself, the girl of ingenious ideas, would not haveattempted to recall her to life; for ridicule kills beauty even.

  But fortunately, as we have said, Louise, whose ears were buzzing, andher eyes veiled by timidity,--Louise saw nothing and heard nothing; andthe king, who had still his attention directed to the conversation ofthe cardinal and his uncle, hastened to return to them.

  He came up just at the moment Mazarin terminated by saying: "Mary, aswell as her sisters, has just set off for Brouage. I make them followthe opposite bank of the Loire to that along which we have traveled; andif I calculate their progress correctly, according to the orders I havegiven, they will to-morrow be opposite Blois."

  These words were pronounced with that tact--that measure, thatdistinctness of tone, of intention, and reach--which made del SignorGiulio Mazarini the first comedian in the world.

  It resulted that they went straight to the heart of Louis XIV., andthe cardinal, on turning round at the simple noise of the approachingfootsteps of his majesty, saw the immediate effect of them upon thecountenance of his pupil, an effect betrayed to the keen eyes of hiseminence by a slight increase of color. But what was the ventilation ofsuch a secret to him whose craft had for twenty years deceived all thediplomatists of Europe?

  From the moment the young king heard these last words, he appeared as ifhe had received a poisoned arrow in his heart. He could not remain quietin a place, but cast around an uncertain, dead, and aimless look overthe assembly. He with his eyes interrogated his mother more thantwenty times: but she, given up to the pleasure of conversing with hersister-in-law, and likewise constrained by the glance of Mazarin, didnot appear to comprehend any of the supplications conveyed by the looksof her son.

  From this moment, music, lights, flowers, beauties, all became odiousand insipid to Louis XIV. After he had a hundred times bitten hislips, stretched his legs and his arms like a well-brought-up childwho, without daring to gape, exhausts all the modes of evincing hisweariness--after having uselessly again implored his mother and theminister, he turned a despairing look towards the door, that is to say,towards liberty.

  At this door, in the embrasure of which he was leaning, he saw, standingout strongly, a figure with a brown and lofty countenance, an aquilinenose, a stern but brilliant eye, gray and long hair, a black mustache,the true type of military beauty, whose gorget, more sparkling than amirror, broke all the reflected lights which concentrated upon it, andsent them back as lightning. This officer wore his gray hat with itslong red plumes upon his head, a proof that he was called there by hisduty, and not by his pleasure. If he had been brought thither by hispleasure--if he had been a courtier instead of a soldier, as pleasuremust always be paid for at the same price--he would have held his hat inhis hand.

  That which proved still better that this officer was upon duty, and wasaccomplishing a task to which he was accustomed, was, that he watched,with folded arms, remarkable indifference, and supreme apathy, the joysand ennuis of this fete. Above all, he appeared, like a philosopher, andall old soldiers are philosophers,--he appeared above all to comprehendthe ennuis infinitely better than the joys; but in the one he took hispart, knowing very well how to do without the other.

  Now, he was leaning, as we have said, against the carved door-frame whenthe melancholy, weary eyes of the king, by chance, met his.

  It was not the first time, as it appeared, that the eyes of the officerhad met those eyes, and he was perfectly acquaint
ed with the expressionof them; for, as soon as he had cast his own look upon the countenanceof Louis XIV., and had read by it what was passing in his heart--that isto say, all the ennui that oppressed him--all the timid desire to goout which agitated him,--he perceived he must render the king aservice without his commanding it,--almost in spite of himself. Boldly,therefore, as if he had given the word of command to cavalry in battle,"On the king's service!" cried he, in a clear, sonorous voice.

  At these words, which produced the effect of a peal of thunder,prevailing over the orchestra, the singing and the buzz of thepromenaders, the cardinal and the queen-mother looked at each other withsurprise.

  Louis XIV., pale, but resolved, supported as he was by that intuitionof his own thought which he had found in the mind of the officer ofmusketeers, and which he had just manifested by the order given, arosefrom his chair, and took a step towards the door.

  "Are you going, my son?" said the queen, whilst Mazarin satisfiedhimself with interrogating by a look which might have appeared mild ifit had not been so piercing.

  "Yes, madame," replied the king; "I am fatigued, and, besides, wish towrite this evening."

  A smile stole over the lips of the minister, who appeared, by a bend ofthe head, to give the king permission.

  Monsieur and Madame hastened to give orders to the officers whopresented themselves.

  The king bowed, crossed the hall, and gained the door, where a hedge oftwenty musketeers awaited him. At the extremity of this hedge stood theofficer, impassible, with his drawn sword in his hand. The king passed,and all the crowd stood on tip-toe, to have one more look at him.

  Ten musketeers, opening the crowd of the ante-chambers and the steps,made way for his majesty. The other ten surrounded the king andMonsieur, who had insisted upon accompanying his majesty. The domesticswalked behind. This little cortege escorted the king to the chamberdestined for him. The apartment was the same that had been occupied byHenry III. during his sojourn in the States.

  Monsieur had given his orders. The musketeers, led by their officer,took possession of the little passage by which one wing of the castlecommunicates with the other. This passage was commenced by a smallsquare ante-chamber, dark even in the finest days. Monsieur stoppedLouis XIV.

  "You are passing now, sire," said he, "the very spot where the Duc deGuise received the first stab of the poniard."

  The king was ignorant of all historical matters; he had heard of thefact, but he knew nothing of the localities or the details.

  "Ah!" said he with a shudder.

  And he stopped. The rest, both behind and before him, stopped likewise.

  "The duc, sire," continued Gaston, "was nearly where I stand: he waswalking in the same direction as your majesty; M. de Lorgnes was exactlywhere your lieutenant of musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and hismajesty's ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here that hewas struck."

  The king turned towards his officer, and saw something like a cloud passover his martial and daring countenance.

  "Yes, from behind!" murmured the lieutenant, with a gesture of supremedisdain. And he endeavored to resume the march, as if ill at ease atbeing between walls formerly defiled by treachery.

  But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, was disposed to giveanother look at this dismal spot.

  Gaston perceived his nephew's desire.

  "Look, sire," said he, taking a flambeau from the hands of M. deSaint-Remy, "this is where he fell. There was a bed there, the curtainsof which he tore with catching at them."

  "Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot?" asked Louis.

  "Because it was here the blood flowed," replied Gaston; "the bloodpenetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only by cutting it out thatthey succeeded in making it disappear. And even then," added Gaston,pointing the flambeau to the spot, "even then this red stain resistedall the attempts made to destroy it."

  Louis XIV. raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking of that bloody tracethat had once been shown him at the Louvre, and which, as a pendant tothat of Blois, had been made there one day by the king his father withthe blood of Concini.

  "Let us go on," said he.

  The march was resumed promptly, for emotion, no doubt, had given to thevoice of the young prince a tone of command which was not customarywith him. When arrived at the apartment destined for the king, whichcommunicated not only with the little passage we have passed through,but further with the great staircase leading to the court,--

  "Will your majesty," said Gaston, "condescend to occupy this apartment,all unworthy as it is to receive you?"

  "Uncle," replied the young king, "I render you my thanks for yourcordial hospitality."

  Gaston bowed to his nephew, embraced him, and then went out.

  Of the twenty musketeers who had accompanied the king, tenreconducted Monsieur to the reception-rooms, which were not yet empty,notwithstanding the king had retired.

  The ten others were posted by their officer, who himself explored, infive minutes, all the localities, with that cold and certain glancewhich not even habit gives unless that glance belongs to genius.

  Then, when all were placed, he chose as his headquarters theante-chamber, in which he found a large fauteuil, a lamp, some wine,some water: and some dry bread.

  He refreshed his lamp, drank half a glass of wine, curled his lip witha smile full of expression, installed himself in his large armchair, andmade preparations for sleeping.

  CHAPTER 9. In which the Unknown of the Hostelry of Les Medici loses hisIncognito.